Audrey
by KPtheMoviesaholic
Summary: She's got everything he searches for in a girl: looks, figure, wit, potential to reject him without a care, and on top, what he's unaware , a boyfriend and a plan to kidnap and hold him captive. CharliexOC.
1. Your Name

Maybe getting whacked was tolerable after all.

No, Charlie Dalton couldn't blame himself for the sudden and unexpected thoughts springing into his mind on his way to Hagar's office.

For the one person, one alive, breathing, redheaded female was blocking his way at the door.

One with very—ah, let's say—attractive backside—okay, _figure _would be a more appropriate word.

After backing away a few steps into the Men's room for a last-minute, hurried hair/face check—no way he'd change the dull Hellton uniform—Charlie resisted the urge to try 'tricks,' and went on with the simple, gentlemanly elbowing. "Hey, lost your way, love?"

The girl turned her heart-shaped face towards him, green eyes surveying his face. "No," her unusual tone, an accent unfamiliar to his ears, British, he supposed, had an upbeat, hint of arrogance, lifting the end of her short word in a high note, "Are you?"

_Oh, this is fun. She's asking me back._

He cocked his brown eyes at her. "Must be waiting for a good whacking, then?" he asked cheerfully, corners of his mouth lifting into a grin.

She rolled her eyes. "I suppose you are, but the lucky fate's not for me today, thank you."

_God, what a _girl_…_

He didn't watch her mouth while she spoke, his eyes wandering, taking in her plain, ordinary face, shining eyes, and those, those tiny pair of rosy lips. She was not clad in Henley Hall uniform—good, for one thing—not wearing those red jackets from Chris's school, but a classy knitted sweater and a light green cardigan matching her eyes over her long checkered skirt.

Darn. _Long _skirts.

He gave her a curt nod. "Right, Ms…?"

She returned his fleeting smile. "Not getting it that easy, Mr…?"

Right before he was about to answer, Hagar's voice boomed out, "Dalton! IN HERE! You're late!"

He grinned briefly at her, pointing his index finger at the door, in what he fancied was a cool, transient enough "I've got to go, but I'll think of you," gesture, and went in to face his (usual) doom.

Her mouth twitched in hilarty, her words echoing after him. "Got it. Dalton."

Unnamed Random British Girl: 1. Me: 0.

xxxxx

"But where is she from? For God's sake (if He's ever considering _my_ girl problems), a Brit?"

Charlie was lounging on his favorite couch in the study room, pondering on the mysterious suspect, while his fellow Dead Poets studied the night away.

Cameron's red head targeted him. "Haven't you got some trig to do?"

He lifted his pipe, pretending to shoot the obnoxious redhead (another redhead, what's wrong with the world?). "Oh, don't be such a killjoy, Cammy."

Immediately 'Cammy,'s' mouth moved in a mutter of noiseless demeaning words for a few seconds, (few uncounted for seconds in _his_ life), its owner turning back to the monstrous pile of textbooks on the main table, behind which Neil (safely sheltered in his glasses) and Knox were safely hidden.

Neil adjusted his glasses, sparing a glance at him, his sentence dubious and incredulous. "What girl? What are you talking about, Charlie?"

Knox ruffled his hair, "Haven't seen any around here for ages, except, well, you know—" his voice drifting off in a hesitant, dreamy tone.

"—yeah, I know, Chris," Charlie repeated, his eyes closed, recited, almost, crystal clear of his boredom, "You just can't stop talking about her."

With seemingly arduous efforts, he dragged a Trigonometry textbook down from the table to his lap, and opened to the assigned page, stifling a yawn at a lift of his pencil. "Whatever, whatever, I don't care. Such a _hot_ illusion, though," muttering to himself audibly.

Really.

He was _this_ close to getting her name.

Okay, slim chance, but still.

"_Hot_?" exclaimed Knox, Neil, and Cameron as one, Charlie lifting his face up slowly from the page. "But Char—"

The door to the study slammed shut, and a dazed Meeks was pushed in, followed by the ever-towering Pitts.

"Go on, go on in," whispered Pitts, Meeks locked in his own world and oblivious to actions around him.

"It was—" Meeks mumbled, "It was…"

Unconsciously, the Dead Poets crowded themselves around Meeks, asking, "It was what, Meeks, c'mon, do tell!"

"A girl!" Charlie clicked his fingers, grinning, "Told ya I was right. Isn't it, Meeks?"

The only reaction as dazed as this happened the one time Meeks actually glimpsed Chris.

Meeks simply gave a robotic motion of his head as a yes.

The heads turned to Pitts for an explanation.

"Ah, uh, well," Pitts fingered his outershirt, shy at being the center of attention, "We were walking down the hall, and this girl asked us in this weird Brit accent where the library is. Meeks almost fainted, if I hadn't—"

Charlie cut him off, excited, "There! A Brit! Did she tell you anything else?" he asked.

Pitts shook his head, "Um, no."

He raised his eyebrow and came up with a simple. "Oh."

"So?" Neil laid his hands on the table, "Has Nuwanda found his lady?"

Charlie hit Neil playfully, "Don't use theater words with me, O Puck," he said, "It's not my 'lady,'" his voice spelled disdain at the word, "Just a girl I needed finding out. Acted like some sort of mystery."

Knox started to whistle a familiar tune. "Bait, Nuwanda. Your bait."

xxxx

The girl was there again.

In front of Hagar's office, regrettably.

"Are we ever going to meet somewhere else, m'lady?" he said, smoothing out his outershirt, questioning her. There. Some obvious theater crap. Blame him for being a hypocrite.

There was laughter in her eyes. "I don't know, maybe."

"So are you in for it again?"

He flipped the gold trinklets on his shirt at her, "Nope. Just on good behavior mode, and you?"

She shrugged. "It's hard to find my way around here. Still using this place as my starting point."

"Hard?" he pretended disbelief, "Where did you come from, old England?"

She licked her lips. "Got that one right, Dalton."

He smiled. "It's Nuwanda."

"Didn't know people have such weird names nowadays," she commented, stepping around.

Weird. Ha. _Boring_ _Charl_ie.

"What about yours?"

"Ah," she said softly, "Not as weird as you, but not as common."

"Of some foreign origin, then?"

She gave a reluctant, quick nod.

"Are you going to keep me guessing, honey?" he couldn't help it. He had to call her something.

She was about to answer (again, the de ja vu playing itself out before his eyes), when Hagar's voice called out.

"Come on in, dear Audrey, aren't you here to see me?"

_Wait, wait, wait the hell a minute. Hagar calls her dear? _Dear Audrey_?_

"Audrey," his mouth shaped her name, and she half-scowled back, briskly stepping into the office and disappearing from his sight.

Audrey. Nice. Like the actress.

Audrey: 1. Nuwanda: 1.


	2. My Bed

**Disclaimer: Don't own DPS. Except Audrey, and what's to come.**

The Romantics, The Romantics….The _friggin'_…Romantics…

_Where are they?_

Charlie Dalton hurriedly ran his finger passed the volumes of books concerning classical poets on a shelf farthest of his hand's reach. To his surmised disappointment—if, out of sheer desperation, he had already been screening the library once prior to lunch time—there appeared, still, a gap on his desired topic.

The Captain had decided their essays to be handed in tomorrow, to his dismay.

He was half-way through heaving another exasperated sigh when a hand patted his back.

"Got anything yet?" Knox's sincere dark shades met his.

He gave a quick dismissal shake of his head, smirking. "D'you think I'd be sighing, then?"

There was something about Knox Charlie could not figure out these days. Since Chris, he was more—more, confident, perhaps, in his ways. Knox(ious) shrugged as a response to his retort, turning back at Charlie's confused countenance, and continued to whistle.

"Maybe," Knox said, "Since you're so oblivious to Mystery Girl's presence within sighting radius of yourself."

At Knox's mention of 'Mystery Girl,' Charlie whirled around from the bookshelves, eyes darting around the library, while his hand simultaneously hit his best friend with the book in its hold.

"Ouch."

"It's not Mystery Girl," he hastily amended in her defense for an unknown reason, "Her name's Audrey."

Despite still scratching the back of his head, Knox widenend his eyes, and his lips, an invisible light of understanding (to Charlie) breaking out on his face.

"Ah-ha!"

Knox's finger was hovering before his eyes.

"_Ah-ha_, what?" Charlie took a step back from the finger, his tone faltering in Knox's authorative, enlightened exclamation.

"You've got it out of her," the finger jabbed his chest, accompanied by the annoyingly cheery, teasing voice, "Made it your business to find out her name, didn't you?"

Oh. That. As if he didn't know Knox was playing the same old trick. He was hazarding a more drastic threat.

Recomposing himself after his split second of realization, Charlie erased the slightest hints of shock and vulnerability and traces of astonishment left on his face, subsituting them for his usual mask of smugness.

He shrugged. "Well, yeah. Her name's _Au_drey…"

His sentence drifted, left in the air when inspiration flashed at him. He clicked his fingers, "Tell you what, Knoxious."

"What?" Knox piped up, looking quite eager that he did not mind the labeling.

"Me," Charlie ostensibly gestured at himself, then at the girl, "Audrey."

Knox automatically mirrored Charlie's action, winking, "And Me, the book, Got it."

"There's my Dead Poet," Charlie grinned, dropping the book into Knox's waiting hands.

She was sitting alone in the farthest corner of the hollowed hall, her back to the shelves, so conscientiously studying her text he feared of disrupting her concentration. As though sensing his shifting steps in front of her, Audrey looked up, her face expressionless, lips tightened into a straight line.

"I thought girls weren't allowed in Hellton," he spoke first, savoring the taste of her name. "Audrey."

She seemed immune to his emphasis on the particular word. "Well, aren't you supposed to say I'm a sight for sore eyes?" smirking, she put down her book, sparing him a glance.

He stretched out his hands in front of him mockingly, half-smiling, "Whoa, slow down there, doll. I've seen my fair share of girls during my days, not just you. Don't consider yourself special."

She shrugged. "I just know I am."

He tsked. "Tricky girl. Now tell me—"

Todd Anderson's mumbling voice interrupted Charlie's interrogative tone. Charlie turned to find his reticent Dead Poet stood—oh, of course, the guy practically lived at the library—nearby, his arms full of books.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Y—your books?" Todd uttered, struttering as he did, lifting his eyes at Charlie and Audrey. To Charlie, words escaping Todd's lips before a girl were considered a miracle.

Audrey simply motioned him to place the stack next to her seat. "Thank you, Todd," she smiled, shaking the boy's hand.

Todd nodded, pulling his hand from her shakily, "No problem, miss," and silently left.

As if signaling her queue, Audrey gathered her belongings, and, ignoring Charlie, headed to the exit without so much as a "That concludes our little morning conversation. Nice to talk to you."

Charlie was left standing, shaking his head.

It was not a rare phenomenon. He had come across girls who rejected him before, but those were what highlighted his conquests, brought excitement, unpredictability, and challenge into him. He wasn't going to let this one slip past him by.

He casually slung his arm across Todd, the action he openly wished he could do with Audrey. At least, before she had fled him. (If anyone could call it that.)

"Tell me," he said, "Tell me all you know."

Todd had his usual face expression on. If not in the presence of Neil, who evoked various emotions out of the quiet Poet, puzzlement was always on Todd's number one list.

"Um…she's a…girl?"

Charlie tapped him on the back. "Anything not blatantly obvious?"

That worked on him.

"Name's Williams. Checks out books on Conrad."

The first tap was followed by a more enthusiastic second. "That's my boy!"

Todd shrugged. "I'm just doing my job as an assistant librarian, Char—"

"Nuwanda."

"—Nuwanda."

xxxxxxxx

He was trudging back to the dreary old school doors after a long, tiring football game. His body was dripping with sweat, his strength wavering, and his mind drifted to Welton's culinary menu for dinner, regardless of the nightmares he expected to face.

He didn't pretty much expect anything else, really. Other than that time when he was chasing Knox back into class, the day of the formation of their club, shouting "Women swoon!" and laughing hysterically at Knox's naivety in the subject he fancied himself an expert, the school doors did not guarauntee him much surprising sights.

That was when he spotted her. Sitting on the marble steps, those long, gorgeous legs crossed. Looking as if she owned the school.

Had she unveil that wet towel covering her body, she would indeed have. For, but of course, it was him and him alone who caught her swimming in the school gym's pool. The image of her 'fashion style,' of knitted sweater and long skirt etched in his mind, he fathomed the old-style swimming suit females had taken to wearing these days, those obscuring what he privately labeled as their most alluring spots and curves. Instead, what his fortunate eyes glimpsed on her were what he thought he would never see during his days at Welton (well, apart from the Playboy stash hidden under his bed)—bikinis, which did its marvelous job of putting her hourglass figure (and cleavage, he added in his mind) on display for his pure pleasure.

He watched her dry her hair with the towel, as she pretended not to notice him. "That must've been a hell of a swim."

She raised her head, her voice skeptical. "I'll trust you not to swear in front of me, mister."

"Sorry, miss Williams," he replied, in a tone declaring the opposite.

"How'd—"

"Todd," was his simple and to-the-point answer. She shook her head quickly, attempting to divert his attention. "Tired with your football game?"

He grinned. "Not as much when I see my cheerleader waiting for me."

She scoffed. "I'm just enjoying the view in my seclusion, thank you."

His finger circled an imaginary route around him in the air. "Really, the football fields? The sky? The School? Sweaty guys, oh, that," he touched a strand of her wet hair, "would include me. You yourself were pretty fantastic in that swimming suit."

Her mouth was agape. "How'd—"

He chuckled. "Todd. No, I'm joking. Don't look so demented. I have my sources."

She kicked the dirt under her feet, musing, disinterested. "Really."

If this was going to go anywhere, he had to step up his act. "So, miss, free this Friday? My friend Knox's girlfriend Chris is having a party at her place."

He wanted to snap his fingers in delight. Nuwanda could really work his magic. She was tilting her head, her emerald eyes inspecting him from head to toe.

"Are you, Charlie Dalton, asking me out on a date?"

It was his turn to look shock. And by shock, he meant the genuine kind.

"How'd—"

She laughed, fingering her hair. "Todd. No, I'm joking. Don't look so demented. It really was him."

He whistled.

"Back on topic," she continued, "It's not that often, as I've heard."

He extended a hand to her, offering to lead her back into the building. She accepted silently.

"Consider yourself lucky," he said, feeling the softness of her hand.

A corner of her lips twitched.

"No, you consider yourself lucky, Dalton, that I've agreed to go with my stalker, as you've shamelessly proclaimed yourself to be."

xxxxxx

She was lying on his bed. No, he wasn't kidding himself. It wasn't a vision, and she wasn't breathless because of him. Audrey was fast asleep, despite the morning sunshine illuminating her face, alcohol faintly mixed in her breath.

He observed her from his temporary makeshift bed on the floor. Damn him for being too much of a gentleman.

"What happened," sounded from the bed. He carefully got up, sitting beside her on his bed. "Ah, you're awake?"

"No, I'm sleeping," she rolled over, so that her back was facing him.

"You're quite cranky for someone with a hangover!" he commented, smiling.

With that, she turned back, her eyes widened. "I was drunk?"

He clutched his hands. "Let me put it like this."

"Like…"

"You kissed me. And, uh, I don't know if I should tell you this—"

"Don't."

"So I'll tell you anyway," the sneaky glint in his eyes was disturbing her. "Because, well, obvious, I'd—"

"—shut it, If you're telling me, spill."

How bossy she looked, arms crossed over her chest in bed.

"Oh, calm down, love. We made out."

She let out a small gasp, and a British swear word. "Bloody hell. I wasn't drunk Dalton."

"How'd—"

"I was fucking brainwashed." …and an American one.

Just as he expected. He had his lines at the ready. With his signature smirk.

"I'll trust you not to swear in front of me, miss."

"Dalton," she glared at him.

"Yes?" he tilted his head, asking her obediently, "Wait, do you want anymore details? Because I'd be happy to oblige—"

"_Dalton_," she repeated, almost sternly.

He let her say her piece.

"I'd never commit such a crime…if my mind was clear."

"It's an honor," he replied.

"But…we didn't…go…very far, did we?" she asked, attempting to regain her composure.

He found it impossible to count, or even list, the number of girls who had asked him the all-too-familiar question. It was his favorite question to answer, in fact. He could shape the memories of his 'bed-buddy' the way he preferred simply with his words, or lies, to be more precise. In her case, he was feeling himself merciful (ridiculous, shouted out his mind. Merciful? When? Especially now when his sheets were rumpled because of her alone, and not them.), and decided to go with the truth.

"Close," he looked down at the floor, his voice emptied of emotions, "Pity, you were a pretty good kisser, though."

She licked her lips.

"How good?" her lips captured his neck, caught unaware. "This good?" a peck on his cheek. "Or this good?" a fleeting, tantalizing press on his lips.

He leaned in closer, his eyes closed, hand wandering dazedly for her face, lips to meet with empty air. His face stumbled over. She had already held back, chuckling, when he closed his eyes.

He made a face, attempting to conceal his rising irritation. "You're being such a tease, you know that?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Consider it your bonus," picked up her backpack, "And thanks."

Knox stroded into his room, passing Audrey on her way out, and turned to give him a thumbs-up.

He rolled his eyes. "Relax," he muttered, "Nothing happened with Miss Tease-me-I-want-to-be-Kissed."

Knox surveyed the room. "I can see you're happy, at least."

Charlie threw his hands up in mock defeat, "Oh. I gave her my spot on the bed, which should have been ours. I had to sleep on the _floor_. Yes, maybe I'm happy."

xxxxx

"Lost your way, Audrey?"

He wouldn't protest her label this time. He was, after all, standing in the position where they had several times before encountered. Stalker.

"I recall we've had this conversation earlier, Dalton," she said. This was an anomaly. Her long red hair tousled, she was wearing her leather jacket over a black T-shirt and jeans outfit.

And a helmet in her hand.

"Not quite often enough, in my opinion." There went his second line.

She smirked. "You're officially my stalker, know that?"

"And, something else?" he purposely blocked her path to the school doors.

"What?" she attempted to push pass him. "Get out of the way, I'm going out."

As if that wasn't clear enough.

"I'll drive you." He just said that to be fancy. His billionaire father didn't cough out as much as a single penny for his personal car. All he possessed was a bicycle, but he was determined to go down in his conquest with a grander vehicle than Knox's.

"I've got my own car, thanks." She was pushing his out spread arms.

He lowered his arms. "Well, uh, Neil's got a theater audition today, and I'd hate to miss showing up there to show him my support."

She seemed to take into consideration his 'excuse' for a moment, before nodding, "Oh, come on, stalker. If you're going. Get a ride on," and handed him a spare helmet.

xxxxxx

The theater was a perfect locale. The stage and the seats in all row were empty, except, to his glad knowledge, she was not aware of that fact.

"This walkway's pretty darn narrow," he murmured, as they struggled to head out to the main stage.

"Hurry up," she said, pushing his back.

He turned at her. "What, you've already went to your supermarket, didn't you?"

She shrugged, and pushed past him to get ahead. He laughed, the sounds echoing in the sound-proofed hall. "You liar of a Nuwanda! This place is empty! Why'd told me to come here?" He had remained in his place behind her.

Audrey started on her way back, when he grabbed her shoulders so she was facing him, his fingers tracing her stone frozen face.

"So I could do this." And his lips landed on her without further superfluous phrases. "This," a peck on her cheek. "And this," a fleeting, tantalizing kiss on her ear.

She trembled, looking into his brown eyes. "You're kidding me," she laughed hesitantly.

"No," he whispered, his lips mapping her neck."I'm not, Audrey."

She could feel his hot breath on her neck with every word.

"Dalton," she breathed, "Stop."

Her hands reached up to his wandering ones on her hair. He kissed her hand.

"Yes, Audrey?"

She played with his hair absentmindedly. He smiled.

"You're an evil little guy," she muttered, "Know that?"

His reply was a kiss on her lips, to which she responded.

"And a pretty good kisser, no doubt," he said, "That you'd have to admit."

She grinned, her finger trailing down his chest. "Maybe."

His free hand played with the hem of her shirt, hers to his necktie.

"Loose the tie," she ordered.

He kissed her forehead, hands fumbling with his clothes clumsily. "Yes, ma'am,"

xxxxx

"What's this?" she cocked an amused eye at the red lightning scar painted on his exposed chest.

He shrugged. "My lightning scar. Girls love it."

Audrey propped herself up on his chest with her elbows, staring at his smug face. She scoffed. "I don't."

Charlie chucked, lazily entwining her fingers in his. "The bad girls are my favorite."

Laughing, she leaned in for another kiss, breaking their embrace only to ask, "You knew we were going to do this, didn't you?" a jab at his chest. "What makes you so sure I was going to give in?"

He pretended to think. "My looks?"

"That," she traced a lazy circle on his arm, "Wouldn't be the first thing which attracted me."

A frown. Obviously another pretense.

"I'm joking," she confessed, and he mock sighed. "That's only a part of it."

"'Cause I know you wouldn't want to miss," he planted a trail of kisses down her neck with every word, "A. Single. Piece. Of Me."

She hummed softly, "Narcisstic Nuwanda."

"My words?" he suggested.

"Perhaps."

"The chemical attraction between us which I've felt since the first day we met and you've left it unrealized?"

She looked at him. "For you, that's a lame, romantic way to put it, Dalton. How about a simple, 'I think I'm starting to like you because you're somewhat like me?'"

He grinned, fingering her hair. "Fine with whichever way you put it, love."

She kissed his lips. "You'd better be…"

xxxxxx

"Tell me that wasn't what I saw," Neil paused to catch his breath, his back to Charlie's and Cameron's room door. A crowd of Dead Poets gathered around him.

"If by saw you meant a half-naked _Nu_wanda and _that girl_ kissing the daylights out of each other on the bed, my bed, then yes. I certainly did see it," spat Cameron. His roomate had the nerve to lock him out of the room some nights, since _that girl_ came into the picture. He refused to acknowledge her presence, or name, inwardly reasoning that she had greatly disturbed his personal peace.

"I take it they're together?" asked Knox, who had yet to move far to a stage as Charlie's in his relationship with Chris.

"I don't know," said Todd.

Neil carefully reopened the door, revealing a standing, fully dressed Audrey, Charlie's necktie round her neck, talking to an also fully dressed Charlie in his pajamas, on his bed.

They both turned to the Poets and smiled.

xxxxxx

**A continuation :D I couldn't resist not mentioning his lightning!**

**Like it? Hate it? **

**Thank you so much for every read, hit, and review,**

**I love you all,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**

**PS. Not a typical girl. Sneak Peek at the next chapter:**

"_Where am I?" Charlie lifted his head, drowsiness overclouding his eyes. Audrey was sitting by his side on a bed._

"_My bedroom," she answered simply._

_A chuckle escaped his lips. _

"_Then why am I not naked and covered in your kisses?"_


	3. Handcuffs

He didn't love her.

Of course, he didn't love her. He wasn't the classic bad boys cliché who'd have to run after goody-two-shoes girls who were his polar opposites, or sassy, irritating girls who rejected him at first impressions like Audrey. Charlie Dalton was…different, as he'd preferred to categorize himself. Wait, he couldn't be limited to categories, or conformity, or…notion, as it may be. He was in his own realm, and, boy, did he love it.

He wasn't in denial, either. He knew his heart—he knew the beating organ, the seat of his romantic emotions well enough to discern it wasn't skipping its beats or leaping to erratic sudden stops and pauses as he felt when he was first in love. But he denied himself of ever being in love, though he remembered it vividly. He'd wished he forgot the ridiculous emotion Knox threw around Chris stupidly, limply. The ludicrous word complicated his life so, that he'd abolished and alienated it altogether. And she was, classic sentence, another girl to him.

They weren't in a relationship. He couldn't even label what they had. She dropped in most times and was off in the morning when he woke. She didn't cling to him. Did not 'fall in love' with him suddenly. And he appreciated her for that. She let him live his life as if there wasn't a girl. Did not whine to him about the girls in the cave. Hell, she even drunk herself silly with him some nights.

She was one of his best memories, he decided, until a night which caught him by the throat arrived.

xxxx

He had skipped out on one of the Dead Poets' meetings early when she dropped by to the cave (he wouldn't question why or how she found out about their clandestine society). Naturally there were some incidents and awkward greetings with the boys at first (Meeks didn't faint, good news), but they managed to head back to school in the dark, picking a spot under the tallest pine tree.

"Isn't it just romantic," she started, resting her head on his shoulder, irony sharpening her tone, "You, me, the stars?"

He chuckled, kissing her hair, "You sure don't mean what you say."

She returned his laugh. "I don't have to."

Her wit always threw him off. He tightened his hold on her shoulders, smiling at her. "So tell me, Audrey, what business have you at Hellton today?"

She grinned, kissing his neck. "You."

He grinned back, satisfied, "That would take long to finish, ma'am." He kissed along her jawline. "How would you like to begin?"

She rolled her eyes, her finger tracing imaginary lines on his arm, "That's a difficult question to answer, Dalton."

He shrugged, and pulled her close. His enticing whisper hovered near her ears, his hands already working at her jacket.

"Then don't answer at all."

The last traces of memories he had of that night was the sweet taste of her lips on his, the smoothness of her hair…and…

Blackness and infinity blurred his vision.

xxxxxx

"Where am I?" Charlie lifted his head, drowsiness overclouding his eyes. Audrey was sitting by his side on a bed.

"My bedroom," she answered simply.

A chuckle escaped his lips.

"Then why am I not naked and covered in your kisses?"

Audrey inspected him. Scrutinized his facetious appearance and voice. "If it were that easy, Dalton," she said, "Wouldn't we be lying in Cameron's bed and sticking our tongues out at him in the mornings as we used to?"

He smiled at the image she brought up. "And it isn't?"

She glanced at him in a way that self-consciousness immediately rushed to his flushed face. "Well, for one thing…"

"…I'm handcuffed—" she chuckled at the sounds heard from him struggling to break from his chains.

"—to a bed, and two," she turned to the porthole, "You're in a ship. With me—"

A cheeky grin was forming on his face, until she continued her sentence.

"—and my boyfriend."

She feasted her eyes on the rare sight of shock coloring Charlie Dalton's complexion. "Your—your boyfriend?" the line came out as a small croak, a pathetic, dying chipmunk's sound.

She blew off a stray strand of her hair. "Ex. I don't know."

He coughed. "I didn't know this was your idea of an ideal vacation."

She shifted a little on the bed, winking at him. "Maybe not for a getaway, but perfect for a kidnapping."

"WHAT?" he spluttered. "You—uh—kidnapped—me?"

She ruffled his hair. "Listen," she said, "My name's Christensen, not Williams. That's Hagar's _real _niece's name. Yes, I'm an impostor. A lookalike. But that's how I got to you," she traced his lips, "And I'm kidnapping you for the sole purposes of holding you for ransom. I didn't think up this plan. My boyf—Oh, God—Alex, let's say. No, that's his real name—planned the whole thing. Long story short, we're broke orphans backed up by a secret society in London, very much unlike that of yours, I'm sorry to say."

"That's a hell lot of information to take in in less than 5 minutes, Audrey—or wait, is that your real name? Or do you have a code name?" she admired his attitude, still being himself despite his changed backdrop.

"No," she laughed, "That's my name."

He sighed. "So all those times were…"

"Don't I deserve the Oscar?" she planted a kiss on his lips. "I was just the perfect target to lure you in first…and…"

He gasped for breath when she broke away. "Can't say I regretted any moment, though."

Her lips curled into a smile. "Just..keep still. Alex's coming in soon. We're taking shifts."

He rolled his eyes. "I can't wait. Oh, and I was going to say…"

She stood up, looking back at him. "Don't think a standard Dalton 'I love you,' will make me pity you and free you with the keys, which are not on my jeans' back pocket, which you'd better stop ogling."

He shook his head, still grinning, "'I hate you.'"

She pressed a kiss to his wriggling hand. "At least that feeling's mutual."

And closed the door behind her.


	4. Lipstick Signature

Richard Cameron had always prided himself on being an early bird. Of course, the one waking up first gets all the juice, the worms, and the advantages. Recently had he begun to regret his 'talent,' since his mornings had been but interrupted by particularly unpleasant noises of his—gulp—roommate and a certain girl he had refused to name. He had no business listening—eavesdropping, more like—on the couple's 'business.' Fortunately they had quitted a habit of occupying his bed, leaving him to suffer—if his pillows did not block the sounds well enough—in peace, at least on his own territory.

As much as Cameron's side of the room was impeccably flawless and by-the-book, his bed always neatly made, his books stacked atop alphabetically on his working table, Charlie's posed a complete opposite. Carvings of girls' names, hearts, on the bedside wall, combined with a disarray of books and papers on the table, which appeared as if a small bomb had landed on it, spelled revolt, true to its owner's every intention.

Cameron awoke, sighing contentedly at the tranquility of the room. There was the peace and quiet he yearned for, the boisterous silence filling the space, hushing other sounds, the neat, made bed on the other side of the room—

Hold on, a neat, made bed?

No girls?

That….was unexpected.

Either Charlie had woken up early and made his bed (a chance rarer than winning a lottery ticket), or he had not been sleeping here at all.

Cameron, only the practical one, opted for the second choice. He stood up, made his bed in one quick motion (if you had practiced some chores dutifully enough, he believed, it's instilled in your brain), and headed for the door.

The other Poets would call him a killjoy again, but he was knocking on their doors to inquire the whereabouts of the Poet who had labeled him 'killjoy,' in the first place. They had all better be grateful to him for informing them the news.

A groggy Neil Perry, his hair uncombed and messy, met his eyes. The Society's founder, dressed in the all-too-familiar striped pajamas, rubbed his eyes, attempting to stifle his yawn. Following close behind was the 'stiff,' Todd Anderson, who stood, wide-eyed in puzzlement at Cameron's appearance.

"Good morning," said Cameron, just to be civil. Neil nodded dazedly in response.

"Wha—why are you up so early for?" he asked.

Todd seconded in a soft utter. "It's, um, six in the morning!"

"Just…wait," Cameron awkwardly held up his right hand. As if he had done something like this before. It was usually Charlie's job—this hurried informing everyone. "Let me call the others, so I can tell you all at the same time."

Knox did not come to open the door. Rather, there was his roomate, a blank-faced boy, his blonde hair cropped short, who pointed his index finger to the bed behind him. "Overstreet?" said the guy. "Come get him. Been mumbling about some girl."

Cameron shook his head wearily, as he walked over to Knox's bed. The lovesick brownhead was clutching his pillow, whispering, "Chris, Chris," and rolling back and forth on his bed, eyes closed.

He put a hand on Knox's shoulders, shaking the Romantic Poet awake. Knox's eyelids fluttered open, its owner asking, "What, Cammy?" in a tone he found difficult to decipher the infiltered emotion.

He was no less than Nuwanda sometimes, thought Cameron, irated.

"C'mon, get to your door," he dragged Knox over to the door, positioning himself in the doorway, between the two sides of the rooms.

Thanks to Neil, a half-asleep Pitts was comically leaning on the faltering Meeks, both of them peeking out of their doorway.

"Now what?" Neil demanded.

Cameron glanced at his fellow Poets' faces. "What?" he repeated. "Haven't you noticed a thing? Not that I care, but it seems that our Nuwanda is…ah, missing, so say I, _I'm _his roommate."

Silence.

Neil's eyes widened first, the other boys' followed suit. "You're…sure?" he asked.

Cameron shrugged. "I don't know, but even if he's with _that_ girl, he'd come back."

Neil headed to Charlie's room, at Cameron's panning hand, the boys hurrying after him.

Five pairs of hands scavenged Charlie's side of the room so thoroughly Cameron was secretly thankful it was not his side. He stood silently by, watching the search. Neither of the boys, sleep washing over their eyes, seemed to have found any traces of evidence, when, after ten interminably long minutes, Todd fished out a small letter, hidden beneath Charlie's bedsheets.

He handed the paper to Neil, naturally.

The boys crowded around him, anxiety coloring their expressions. "What? What does it say, Neil?"

Neil scrutinized the paper, reading and rereading the message, though Cameron, at a split second stare, spotted the one word scribbled on the paper. And a kiss, a girl's lipstick mark, beneath the word.

A name. A signature. That much was clear.

"Audrey," said Neil quietly, "It said, 'Audrey.'"

Xxxx

They spotted the girl where they had heard from Charlie so often that he had stalked her. Hagar's office, presumably. And there she was. Red hair, green eyes, a handsome build, a British accent. It was unmistakenly her.

But why had she looked so surprised to see them?

"Audrey?" called Neil, a bit hesitantly, and the girl turned, her face a perfect imitation of Todd's.

"Yes?" she replied, puzzled, looking the Poets up and down. "Who are you guys?"

Neil was on the verge of explaining to her, though the worried Knox had her by the arm in seconds, leading her to the library. "You must come with us at once, miss," he said to the struggling girl.

"What? Where are you taking me? Why?" stream of questions escaped the girl's lips.

Knox chuckled in response, his face deadpan.

"Oh, I thought you'd know better."

xxxx

"So you met my girlfriend?"

Charlie perked up at the (not-so)-greeting, eyeing the newcomer. He had to praise Audrey. That girl always had taste (and, of course, that but included him in toll). The young man standing in front of him was every bit gangsta-like. Alex, tall and lanky, sported a mob of short, shaggy light brown hair, his blue eyes, mixed with tints of green, sparkled with hints of boyish excitement.

He rolled his eyes. "Audrey, you mean?"

Alex flashed him a transient grin, settling down beside his captive spot. "You could call her my girlfriend," he said, "Thought not necessarily. She told me not to."

Charlie raised a curious eyebrow.

"Otherwise, formally," continued Alex, "We're partners in crime."

Charlie glanced away from the young man, focusing his attention on the ship's interior. "Never mind how you're related," he said, "It doesn't very much concern me." He aimed a weak kick at Alex, who, to his annoyance, dodged in time. "What the hell were you two doing kidnapping me anyway?"

"Take, for instance," replied Audrey's supposed boyfriend, "The fact that you're the number two on Wellton's richest boys list?"

Number Two Richest Boy gave a shrug. "You didn't consider Peyton, did you?"

Alex whistled. "Ah, that. Don't play games with me, Dalton. You know how big a nerd that guy is. You're the easiest bait to lure, my boy."

"You can't blame me for liking girls," he replied, chuckling.

A slap on his shoulder. "That's exactly the point, isn't it?"

Charlie closed his eyes, feigning deep consideration of the matter, when in fact he wanted to turn away from the whole scene, back to his bed at Hellton, even beside Cameron would be more preferable than beside this 'Alex,' guy.

Alex's rhetorical question drummed his mind incessantly.

Girls. That's exactly the point, isn't it?

Isn't it?

**A/N: Hansi, I don't know who I'm writing this for anymore, if not for you. I'm writing it for you, especially for you, and for me, for fun, for the sake of writing alone. No one's reading and reviewing this anymore.**

**But thanks, if you happen to wander/stumble by,**

**Loves,**

**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)**


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